


Death Faerie

by KendraPendragon



Series: My tumblr writing [66]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark!Molly, F/M, Married!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 04:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: “You are mine. Mine.”Words she had whispered so many times in the dark, when she was on top of him, beneath him, holding him, her eyes warm and full of love.A sob broke out of him and he opened his eyes. The brown eyes he loved more than anything was all he could see and he begged her with his, begged her to not let this be real, to be Molly, just Molly. His Molly.His wife.





	Death Faerie

The feeling that he wasn’t alone roused him from his morphine enhanced slumber. The pain in his chest, abdomen, and his hand came rushing back as he gained consciousness. Quickly, he suppressed that. The presence in his room was of higher priority.

Slowly he opened his eyes, struggling. Footsteps on the linoleum floor. He was right beside his bed. 

As the world came into focus, he absorbed the information his eyes gave him as quickly as they could. Small person. Short brown hair. Red lipstick, all dressed in black. Big brown eyes. 

  
Those eyes…

His vision cleared. 

  
Molly. 

  
His first impulse was to smile, to tell her it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Maybe make a morbid joke she would enjoy. 

But then he looked into her eyes again. 

Something wasn’t right.   
  


…Molly?  
  


“I warned you, Sherlock.”

Her voice was shaking, barely above a whisper. 

“I told you to stay out of this.”

His brows twitched in confusion. He needed more information. What was she talking about? 

His eyes darted over her. Most of her clothes were hidden beneath the big black poncho she wore. Cashmere. Way too expensive. Not her style. Neither the black, elegant trousers, nor the heels. She never wore heels. And he’d never seen those black gloves with the crimson inlets between the fingers before.   
  


…Molly?  
  


When she took another step in his direction, a sudden feeling of helplesness overcame him, a want to protect himself. 

His eyes darted up to her glistening eyes. 

 

A surge of fear. 

 

His heart began to pound in his chest, the heartrate monitor giving it away with fast beeps. 

Molly’s face hardened in a way he’d never seen before. 

Her eyes wandered over his exposed chest and belly, covered in cuts and purple and red bruises, as well as his right shoulder and his arm. They stayed on his hand for a long while, nails and wires sticking out of it. 

Her red lips trembled. Her breathing flattened. Her jaw clenched.   
  


Anger.   
  


Her dark gaze met his.   
  


Fury.   
  


“Everything for a case, hm?”

Her voice sounded cold and bitter. Her eyes were wet. She clenched her jaw again.   
  


The case.   
  


Memories came rushing back to him, his mind still dulled from the morphine.   
  


Mycroft. Danger. England. Information of Undercover agents’ identities stolen. Assassinations…gang warefare. London’s criminals killing each other. He’d been hunting information…found an assassin…a code name…

  
The temperature of the room fell. The last warm light surrounding the woman in front of him disappeared. 

The heartrate monitor beeped faster. Sherlock’s eyes widened and his body tensed. 

His world was turned upside down. The dark eyes he looked into turned to ice. 

 

No…

 

“Congratulations, Sherlock Holmes. You found me.”

 

_Death Faerie_

 

She took another step. Sherlock jerked back, his body screaming with pain. 

It was nothing in comparison to the pain inside his heart. 

“Who?” 

Her voice and eyes were full of hate. 

“I know you know. Give me their names, Sherlock. All of them.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, his mind making him see the faces of his torturers, listed the names in clear letters next to their sadistic grimaces. 

As a tear rolled down his cheek, a tear rolled down hers. 

  
“I will kill every single one of them.”

  
A glint of darkness in those eyes and Sherlock was afraid, so afraid. 

 

_Not her. Please God, not her._

  
“Molly.”

He wanted to plead, but his voice was nothing but a dry rasp. 

“Their names.”

 

Cold. Merciless. 

 

Sherlock wanted to be in her arms, those soft, warm arms. He wanted to be back in her flat, in her bed, two days ago, when he had woken up curled up against her, his head in the crook of her neck, her scent and warmth all he felt, feeling loved and safe. 

Another tear fell and he shook his head, his lip trembling. 

The leather of her gloves crunched as she balled her hands into fists. 

 

_The Death Faerie…The Mad Witch…_

 

Her lips twitched, exposing her teeth. Her nostrils flared. Her chest was heaving. 

“Give me their names…or London will burn.”

The cold darkness in her eyes was unbearable. He squeezed his eyes shut, spilling more tears. 

The matress yieled next to him, her flowery perfume filled his nose. Her hot breath hit his face - and he was so bloody scared. 

He should fight, his instincts urged him to, but his body was paralyzed.

 

Even when her gloved hand wrapped around his throat he couldn’t move. 

 

A violent shudder ran through him when she spoke. 

“You are mine. Mine.”

Words she had whispered so many times in the dark, when she was on top of him, beneath him, holding him, her eyes warm and full of love. 

A sob broke out of him and he opened his eyes. The brown eyes he loved more than anything was all he could see and he begged her with his, begged her to not let this be real, to be Molly, just Molly. His Molly. 

His wife.

The woman he loved most in this cruel world. 

 

_I love you_

_I love you_

  
The darkness in her eyes vanished all of a sudden and tears welled up in them. 

She kissed him. Hard. Desperate. 

And he kissed her back, so in love, so scared to lose her. 

His good hand grabbed her neck as he surrendered to her, gave her his mouth willingly, stroked her tongue just as hungrily, drowning in fear and love. 

“Their names”, she panted against his wet lips, her forehead pressed against his, her gloved hand cupping his cheek, her thumb stroking his cheekbone tenderly. 

Their eyes met and beneath the fury he saw the same love and fear he was feeling in every inch of his body.

 

_London will burn._

 

He gave them to her, killing those men as their names fell from his lips. 

The love in her eyes turned to ice again and she closed them, taking a deep breath. Her last tear fell on his cheek. 

“You’re mine”, she whispered and Sherlock’s heart ached for her. He tried to kiss her again, but she leaned back. At the look on her face he shivered, his instincts warning him, but she was too fast. 

 

With quick, strong movements she pinned his good arm to the bed and covered his mouth with her gloved hand. 

His eyes widened, a flicker of light in those cold eyes, then she shot forward. 

 

Her teeth sank into his cheek, fast, hard, merciless. 

 

He screamed against her hand when she broke skin, his traumatized mind having another trauma when the person he trusted most hurt him. 

When she let go of him, he was crying and trembling, his eyes wide, his arm shielding his chest. 

 

The sight of her bloody mouth would haunt him forever. 

 

Not looking away from him she drew a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her lips and chin. 

The bite wound on his cheek pulsated painfully. 

 

_The mark of the Death Faerie_

 

“They will not hurt you again”, she said and it hurt even worse that her voice sounded like his Molly now. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

Sherlock shivered, his mind torn between fear and the need to be in her arms, to be under her protection. She was so strong, always so strong. 

Yet, he felt relief when she stepped away, turning to his bedside table, reaching into her pocket, putting something on the white surface. 

As she started to leave, he stared at the small golden ring, the engraving echoing inside his mind. 

 

_It’s always been true_

 

“No”, he panted as he realized what this meant. The pain in his body didn’t stop him from trying to get up. 

“Molly”, he sobbed, looking after her. “Don’t. Don’t!”

 

She didn’t turn around, she didn’t stop. 

 

It hurt. It hurt so goddamn much. 

 

“Molly! Molly!” 

Over and over he called for her. 

“Come back! Come back to me! Molly!”

He was halfway out of bed when his wired hand stopped him with scrutinizing pain. He cried out, black stars dancing in front of his eyes, yet he yanked again, almost passing out then. 

He crumbled onto the bed, sobbing heavily, panting his wife’s name over and over, staring at her ring until the nurses stormed into his room and gave him a tranquilizer.

 

He fought it as long as he could, as if it would change anything, as if he could protect her by simply staying awake. 

 

His wife. 

 

His Molly. 

 

His…

 

“You’re mine”, he whispered as his mind swallowed by darkness.


End file.
